


Chocolate Kisses and Unfinished Potions Essays

by Naranne



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, easter fic, i used to write such cliches, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-12
Updated: 2009-04-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naranne/pseuds/Naranne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Easter is enjoyed by both Muggles and young wizards and witches alike; on this particular holiday, will the power of chocolate and the relaxtion brought by a holiday bring two of our favourite adolescent witches and wizards together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Kisses and Unfinished Potions Essays

**Author's Note:**

> Easter fic for a friend of mine.

Though there were many differences between the two worlds that existed side-by-side in the modern-day world, when it came to a combination of public holidays, children, young adults, and chocolate, there were bound to be similarities. The Easter weekend was a favourite time of year for many, for it heralded something wonderful: a seemingly limitless supply of chocolate. Chocolate eggs (small, large, solid, hollow, cream-filled, coconut-filled), chocolate bunnies in all shapes in sizes, assortments of different chocolate bars; both Muggle and wizarding children loved the holiday, whether they valued its original religious origins or not. Perhaps the only difference was that instead of an abundance of Mars Bar and Crunchie flavoured mini eggs in the magical world, there was an abundance of bouncing, animated chocolate frogs, and the collecting world went into overdrive as young wizards and witches all over Britain swapped the innumerable Famous Witch and Wizard cards that they had collected over the three or four days.

At Hogwarts, it was generally accepted that the student population (except perhaps those in their O.W.L and N.E.W.T years) would take a complete break from school-work for the duration of the holiday—after all, what sane child or teenager without extremely important, life-changing exams would pass up the chance to eat an endless supply of chocolate in order to _study_? The teachers had long since given up on trying to persuade the student body to study when nearly all of them were hyped up, having overdosed on chocolate and sugar. Instead, the majority of the teaching staff at Hogwarts enjoyed the holiday perhaps as much as the students—even if they did not partake in the chocolate-eating frenzy, they were more than happy to simply watch their students behave like children; carefree, and chocolate-crazy. Even the sour-faced Severus Snape would twist his face into what he hoped passed as a smile, instead of a tight-lipped grimace, as he watched his favourites among the Slytherin house relax. The Great Hall would light up at breakfast, as even though wizarding children were not brought up on tales of Easter Bunnies and Bilbies, and the holiday had long ago lost its religious significance for those of magical background, their parents still honoured the chocolate tradition. Packages upon packages of delicious sweets would arrive, and many gleeful shouts could be heard as the contents of those packages were revealed—and subsequently eaten.

However, there were, perhaps, one or two conscientious students who believed that they and their peers should still be studying relentlessly, striving to achieve their best results in their end of year exams, even if they would all much rather be sitting around indulging in chocolaty goodness. Once such student was Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of her year, who would not let something as trivial as a sudden abundance of chocolate distract her from what she believed was of paramount importance—and she was making her views well known.

Her friends, who, after several years of enduring the same rant from Hermione, let it simply wash over them as they raced toward the Great Hall for breakfast in anticipation of the chocolate they would surely receive. Two of her best friends, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, with his tell-tale unruly black hair and striking green eyes and Ginny Weasley, his fiery, red-headed girlfriend, raced ahead, hand in hand. Ginny's older brother and the only other person Hermione considered her best friend, the blue-eyed, mischievous Ron, red-haired and freckled like all the Weasleys, was shortly behind them, quickening his pace, determined not to be beaten to food. Hermione was left to drag along in their wake, rolling her eyes at the childish behaviour of her friends and thinking about the homework she had left in Gryffindor Tower that needed looking over—just to make sure it was perfect before it was handed in. Knowing they would leave her a seat, she let the trio continue to speed toward the Great Hall, a small laugh escaping her as she watched them. She was not alone for long, however, before she was joined by Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. Luna, an eccentric, air-headed, blonde witch had become a close friend the year before, and Hermione had always considered the clumsy, gangly Neville her friend, so she graced them with a warm smile as they approached.

"Happy Easter, you two," she greeted them.

Luna inclined her head, and merely said by way of greeting, "I hope there's no Nargles in my chocolate. I wore my radish earrings, just in case."

Hermione did not consider herself a gossip—that was the area of expertise of Lavender Brown (Hermione snarled inwardly at the thought of the blonde little so-and-so) and her best friend, Parvati Patil—yet even she had noticed the small, shy glances that Neville and Luna had been stealing, and wondered if and when the sparks would ignite. Such an errant thought had run through her mind when she had seen the way that Neville—even just then—had looked at the blonde when he had evidently thought Hermione would not notice. She hid a smile behind her hand as Neville said meekly and politely, "Hi, Hermione; same to you."

They walked in amiable silence the remainder of the way, until they reached the Great Hall, where Luna bid them farewell, and went to sit at the Ravenclaw table with her housemates. Hermione sat in the seat offered to her by Ron, Harry, and Ginny, in between the two Weasleys, while Neville sat further along, with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, both of whom waved to Hermione as she approached the table. Ron was already moaning about the amount of time he had to wait for the food to arrive, although when Hermione sat down beside him, he grinned at her; her stomach tingled, and she had to check herself—after all, even though they had recently started talking again, the whole incident with Lavender still hung over their heads, and Hermione was trying her hardest not to think about the feelings she had for the gangly red-headed boy.

"Hermione," he complained. "When is the food going to come? And the post?"

"If you spent as much time thinking about your studies as you did about your stomach, you'd be much smarter," she quipped. "You might not even have to ask me for help."

"You'd never thought that maybe I didn't _need_ your help in the first place and that you're just—"

Hermione had begun to draw in an angry breath, but Ginny had saved her the need to retort by leaning around her and punching her brother squarely on the shoulder. The resounding _thwack_ lent weight to the assumption that the punch had really hurt. Ginny grinned at Hermione and winked, before leaning against a chuckling Harry and intertwining her fingers with his.

"Ow, Gin; what was that for?" Ron whined, rubbing the place where her fist had connected with his bony shoulder. Hermione knew that Ron was probably exaggerating, yet she also knew that Ginny had developed a mean punch, having taught her to punch herself. No-one expected a bookish, smart, girl like Hermione to have given any consideration to self-defence, yet being able to hold her own was a secret she was proud of. Malfoy had learnt the hard way in their third year, and Hermione felt safe knowing she could protect herself both the Muggle way _and_ the Wizarding way.

"Does it really hurt that much?" Hermione asked with fake sympathy. Ron scowled at her. "Would you like me to punch the other arm to take your mind off it?"

"No thanks, 'Mione," he growled sullenly, knowing he was beaten, and not liking it, yet being too hungry to really care, either.

Inwardly she glowed at his use of his and Harry's nickname for her: ever since he had started dating Lavender, she had only been Hermione to him—or worse, just simply _Granger_. Though they had healed that rift a month or two ago, it had still taken some time for them to completely return to normalcy, and it that had been the first time he had called her _'Mione_ since they had fought. "I didn't think so," she replied sweetly, her voice dripping with fake honey. "Of course, if you change your mind, the offer still stands."

He was saved the necessity of having to think up a semi-intelligent retort by the polite applause that signalled the end of Dumbledore's succinct Easter breakfast speech, and the appearance of mountains of delicious breakfast food on the tables. A medium-sized chocolate egg wrapped in colourful foil appeared beside each student's plate, and though some, like Hermione and Harry, chose to fill their stomachs with something more nutritious before starting their chocolate binge, some, like Ron, Ginny, and Seamus were unable to resist the lure of sweets. Ron and Ginny's eggs disappeared in record time, leaving Harry and Hermione fearing for the safety of their own chocolate around two Weasleys.

Ron had devoured several slices of toast, not to mention bacon, eggs, and sausages, when the post arrived with the sound of wings and the soft calls of various owls as they sought out their owners. Hedwig landed on Harry's outstretched arm, preening her snow-white feathers and then looking at him expectantly, as she dropped a large package in front of his plate which Hermione could only assume was from Mrs. Weasley. Harry dug in his pocket for some owl treats, and, though they were slightly squashed and somewhat mangled, Hedwig still hooted her thanks as he stroked her feathers before she flew off to return to the Owlery. Similar packages arrived for Hermione and Ginny, carried by a school owl and Errol, respectively, whilst Ron's package was carried by his over-energetic, tiny owl, Pig. Hermione's parents had even sent her a small amount of sugar-free chocolate—as dentists, they disapproved of the chocolate binge that was Easter, and as they did not understand the concept of owl post, a very confused Muggle postman had delivered a package of chocolate to The Burrow. Mrs. Weasley had given each of them a large, hollow, chocolate egg, which had two layers of chocolate (the outer dark, the inner milk) and in-between the layers, a thick, gooey mess of sticky caramel. Hermione laughed, thinking that this was _exactly_ the kind of treat her parents heartily disapproved of. It was not at the top of their list (first place being held by fairy-floss), yet it was definitely there.

Despite herself, a grin made its way onto her face as the simple childish delight of Easter joy stole over her, homework, for the moment, forgotten.

-«¤»-

The warm, orange glow of the fire illuminated the Gryffindor Common Room, and cast heat over those sitting in the armchairs pulled up in a cozy semi-circle around the ancient stone fireplace. Though it was Spring, the nights were still relatively chilly, and as it grew progressively later, the Common Room slowly emptied, leaving only a few Gryffindors curled up in the armchairs by the fire. Having claimed their favourite armchairs earlier on, Ron, Harry, Ginny and Hermione now stayed by the fire, talking amiably. Hermione, as per usual, had various textbooks spread around her, and the Potions essay she had been longing to check over all day rested on her lap. Her quill tapped thoughtfully against her pursed lips as her eyes scanned the parchment, looking for mistakes and areas she could improve. Harry and Ginny were curled up together in the one armchair; they had been a couple for long enough that Ron's protective brotherly urges were somewhat quietened—it seemed that if Ginny were to be with anyone, he'd rather it was the enemy he knew rather than the enemy he didn't, so to speak. At least Harry was someone he could trust, although he did _not_ want to know _any_ of the specifics of their relationship _at all,_ and he was sure he had made that clear more than once. Hermione could hear the painful details, so long as he was spared.

Ron's chocolate package was open on his lap, and he was busy finishing off the scerics, having eaten most of it throughout the day. At Hermione's insistence, some of his unfinished homework lay on the table in front of him, although it had not been touched. He, Harry and Ginny were engaged in a friendly conversation about Quidditch and the up-coming matches, strategy, and what-not; Hermione, having no real interest in the topic, merely nodded and smiled politely, occasionally laughing at a revelation of something embarrassing or amusing that had happened on the pitch. By the time the Common Room was empty except for the four of them, Ginny was beginning to yawn, her head tucked against Harry's chest. Harry had his arms around her as she snuggled next to him, one hand almost subconsciously stroking her hair. Hermione had finished her essay, but now had a textbook open: the end of the year was nearing, she said, and there was no time like the present—she might as well study now, and get as much done as she could.

They were all full from eating chocolate, and the warm glow of the fire seeped into their bones, making them sleepy. Ginny bid them goodnight a short time later; Hermione stifled a giggle as Ron turned away in disgust when Ginny kissed Harry softly on the lips by way of farewell. Harry stood, wanting to walk with her, to spend as much time with her as he could, to savour the time that they had. As they walked the short distance to the girls' dormitories, Ginny decided to needle her brother a bit. "Don't be so disgusted with me and Harry, Ron," she reprimanded him. "Just because you _still_ haven't gotten any _real_ snogging experience."

As he started to protest, she cut him off. "Lavender doesn't count, Ronald. All she did was eat your face—absolutely no finesse or class. Find someone real, brother dearest."

Harry snorted. Hermione could have sworn that Ginny sent a pointed look her way, and she could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. Hoping that Ron had not noticed, she tried to simultaneously hide her now-flaming cheeks in her text book and glare daggers at her friend, who, smiling sweetly, said, "Goodnight, you two."

To Hermione's great relief, Ron appeared not to have noticed anything out of the ordinary as far as Hermione was concerned. However, had Hermione looked up from her text book, she would have caught the shy, speculative look that Ron directed at her, taking a moment to admire her, knowing that Ginny was right, and also having caught the implications that his sister had tried to weave into her words. He may have been stupid, but he was not _that_ stupid.

-«¤»-

Behind them, Harry held Ginny close, trying to memorize the feel of her and the way she fit into his embrace as if they were two pieces of a puzzle. His arms wrapped around her waist, his thumbs stroking the small of her back, whilst her arms had locked themselves around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair. They pressed together as close as could be; her head fit into the crook of his neck, and she nuzzled him affectionately, not wanting to let him go, now that he was finally _hers_. Harry twisted his head to place a soft kiss on the top of her head, and breathed in the scent of her hair—so sweet, and so Ginny. He only wished that he had possessed the Gryffindor courage to man up and do something about the way he felt about her sooner; they might have had months, close to a year, even. It was in moments like these, when they were alone—as alone as could be, anyway, with Ron and Hermione not too far away—that he allowed himself to fantasize, to imagine a world where the war was over, and Voldemort defeated, where he had survived, and he and Ginny could be together without a constant fear hanging over them. Where, on Easter, it would not be the two of them excitedly opening packages of chocolates, but their children, and perhaps their children's' children…

Ginny drew away slightly, as she knew she had to leave and return to her dorm. He removed one arm from her waist so that he could cup her cheek, his gentle caresses making her lips curl into a smile and her eyes shine with emotion. "I have to go, Harry," she said quietly, regretfully.

He leaned his forehead against hers, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. He grinned. "Come to my dorm with me," he pleaded, somewhat jokingly. "My stairs won't turn into a slide for you."

She laughed. "I can't! What if we're caught? What would everyone think?"

"We won't be caught—Invisibility Cloak, remember? Just for a little while. And besides, everyone would only think the truth."

"And what would that be, Harry?" she teased.

"That I've spirited you away to have my wicked way with you," he joked, grinning wickedly.

Ginny playfully swatted his arm. "Harry!" she scolded, but he could tell her resolve was wavering. She smiled up at him. "Just a little while, okay? Go quickly, and come back with the Cloak."

"Yes, ma'am." Harry mock-saluted her, then kissed her quickly and disappeared around the corner up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Ginny instantly missed the warmth of having him so close, and so she turned her attention to her brother and Hermione in order to distract her until Harry's return. Ron had sprawled out on the couch, having moved from his armchair in order to give himself more room. He appeared to be asleep, but Ginny could see his eyes were still open a crack—he was not watching her, but Hermione. Hermione, for her part, had not noticed the pair of eyes that studied her, seemingly immersed in her text book. However, occasionally she would glance over at him, and he would instantly feign sleep, his eyes closing the rest of the way. Her eyes would rake over him, and then she would catch herself and blush, and return to her textbook. Ginny rolled her eyes, avoiding the urge to either laugh, or sigh and scream in frustration. The tension between the two was so thick she thought that she could almost cut it with a knife—one of them, soon enough, would snap. She hoped it was sooner rather than later, as she and Harry had promised each other that they would resist the urge to interfere in their friends' love lives, and let Ron and Hermione work it out on their own. A noise to her right caught her attention, but it was merely Harry, cloak draped over one arm. He leant against the wall for a moment, studying her.

"I'm going to have to keep that with me when I leave," she informed him.

"I know," he replied. "Give it back to me in the morning, okay?"

She nodded as she stepped forward into his waiting arms. He held her a moment, and then gave her the cloak. She draped it over her shoulders, and she stifled a childish giggle as she watched her body disappear. "Shall we?" he asked, and she nodded, interlocking their fingers and pulling the hood of the cloak over her head with her free hand.

Moments later they lay upon Harry's bed, after he had cast a quiet Silencing charm around the curtains, so that his sleeping dorm-mates would not suspect that he was not alone. The Invisibility Cloak was folded under his pillow, where she could easily reach it. Ginny was curled into Harry's chest, one arm around him, the other holding his hand. His free arm was draped around her, holding her close to him. His hand traced lazy circles on her back. Ginny giggled, and pulled back a little so she could look at him. He raised a questioning brow—his glasses were off, to complete the pretence of him being asleep, and she thought he looked more adorable than ever. "Do you think they'll ever sort it out?"

"Who?" he asked, completely missing the point of her question.

"Ron and Hermione," she replied, giving him a look that, even in the dim light, said she thought his intelligence in that particular moment was questionable, at best.

He grinned. "I don't know, Gin. Leave them to sort it out, though, I say. No use getting involved in what _could_ be a blazing Ron and Hermione row if you don't have to."

"True." She smirked.

However, all thoughts of Ron and Hermione were driven from Ginny's mind as Harry pressed her closer and kissed her.

-«¤»-

"'Mione," Ron mumbled sleepily, eyeing her through half-closed lids.

Hermione looked up, startled, rubbing her eyes with one hand whilst keeping her book steady with the other. "Yes, Ron? I thought you were asleep."

"I need help—essay's due in a few days, haven't done it."

"That would be why, instead of stuffing your face full of chocolate all day, you should have done something constructive," she informed him tartly. However, she put her text book down and uncurled herself from her armchair, walking over to where he lay sprawled on the couch. "It's late now."

"I _know_ it's late," he grumbled. "But everyone else has gone to bed; I thought I might as well get your help now."

Unfortunately, she could not quite fault his logic on that one. She reached the edge of the couch and folded her arms across her chest. "You'll have to move."

He grinned at her and pushed himself up against the back of the couch—not quite the reaction she had been expecting. "There's plenty of room," he replied cheekily.

Hermione could feel a steady blush rising up her neck to her cheeks, and it was an effort to keep her voice calm. It was the fact that she knew he was only joking and would never, ever, think of her romantically that helped, more than anything. She fought back the slight sting—she knew even though _Lavender_ had been held in those arms, she never would be. To Ron, she would always be the bookish best-friend. "Ronald," she said warningly, her tone similar to that of an annoyed Mrs. Weasley.

Begrudgingly, he shifted into a sitting position, so that there was enough room for her to sit beside him. However, he did not offer to move the essay papers over, pinning them down with an elbow and preparing his quill. Hermione shot him a quizzical look, wondering what he was playing at, but simply put it down to his half-asleep state. She sat down beside him, tugging his essay over, and finding a myriad of errors contained within the first paragraph. Snatching the quill from his hand, she dipped it in the inkwell and began to correct, intending for him to pick up on her suggestions and then re-write it in his own words, so that it would not appear as if she had simply written his essay for him—the Professor would surely be suspicious if two identical essays were handed in.

Ron studied her as she worked, busily correcting his essay. He thanked whatever higher power there was for sending Hermione his way; he surely would have failed his schooling by now had she not been there throughout the years, always with a quill ready to correct, but yet with a voice ready to scold as well. The firelight played over her skin, casting a light orange glow on the areas that were exposed by her blue cotton pyjamas. The sleeves of her shirt were a little too short, as was the hem of her shirt: her forearms were exposed, as was some of her midriff. Ron reminded himself that this was his best-friend—his _best-friend_ —that he was sitting there admiring, and refused to let his eyes stray to the collar of her top, where she had left a few buttons undone, presumably for comfort. He knew that if he acted upon any feelings that he had for her, he risked not only her friendship, but risked jeopardizing the security that Harry would surely need on their hunt for the Horcruxes.

-«¤»-

Hermione was acutely aware of Ron's gaze on her; although his error-riddled essay was enough to distract her for a moment, she could feel his eyes studying her, and dared not let herself hope that he could possibly be _admiring_ her. No, she reminded herself; they were best-friends, nothing more, nor would they ever be anything more, much as she might hope to me. After all, it had only been a month or two since he and _Lavender_ had split; surely he was not over her that quickly?

With a sigh, she put down the quill, massaging her now-aching hand. "I'm done."

He grinned at her. "Thanks a bunch, 'Mione."

She shoved the essay toward him. "I underlined things you need to work on, and added in my own suggestions. You should rewrite it and try and incorporate the things that I added into your original essay; that way, it won't look like someone else has done your homework for you."

His brow furrowed as he scanned the essay, trying to make sense of what she had written. Unfortunately—

"'Mione, I don't understand what you've done. You're going to have to explain it to me tomorrow."

She sighed exasperatedly, muttering, "What _am_ I going to do with you, Ronald?"

Ron raised an eyebrow—surely harmless teasing was fine, even if it bordered on flirting? "Well, I can think of a few thi—" He cut off mid-sentence and looked around sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Where are Harry and my sister?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was never 'Ginny' when Ron was being protective; it was always _his_ sister, as if he alone had the right to know where and what she was doing of every moment of the day. Hermione supposed that she could understand, as he was her only older sibling left at Hogwarts, yet she still thought he carried it to extremes sometimes—particularly where Harry was concerned. She bit her lip, debating whether to tell him the truth or not. After a moment's indecision, she resolved that it was probably better he hear it sooner rather than later, and from her, not Harry.

"He went to bed a while ago, remember?"

Ron nodded.

"And, er…" she continued, "Ginny followed him, under his Invisibility Cloak."

As she had expected, Ron's ears began to turn a dangerous shade of red, a sure sign that he was becoming angry. " _What_ is he _doing_ with my sister— _my_ sister—in the dorm—in _his bed_?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and swung her legs up on the couch so that she could face him, sitting cross-legged. "What they do is really none of your business, Ron," she informed him.

He evidently did not catch her dangerous tone. "Yes, it _is_ my bloody business, that's my sister that he's doing who-knows-what with!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Do you really think that Harry would take advantage of her that way? He knows he has little time left with her, knows he might not survive the war," she snapped, shaking her finger for emphasis. She folded her arms again. "Besides," she continued, "Ginny is more than capable of taking care of herself, should the situation arise. She's not stupid, she's prepared for any eventuality—she knows the right Contraceptive Charm to use."

In her anger over Ron's stupidity, she had perhaps said more than she intended to, and she realised this when he spoke next.

"How do you know what charms she knows? I suppose you taught them to her, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," she retorted, sticking her chin out defiantly even though a rosy blush bloomed in her cheeks at admitting this to _Ron_ , of all people.

He gaped stupidly for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, before he found his voice. "What—" he began, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Well, who taught them to you, then? And why do _you_ need to know that kind of thing, anyway?"

She leaned back against the armrest of the couch, her arms still folded across her chest and her expression still angry. Though the conversation topic was more than plenty awkward, he still managed to ignite a spark of anger in her. "It's really not your business whether I know a Contraceptive Charm or not, and whether I intend to _use_ that knowledge or not. However, if you must know, it was _your_ mother who taught it to me."

He leaned forward, perhaps emboldened by her blunt statements, the dim lighting, and the desire to prove a point. "My mother? And how isn't it my business?"

Hermione's breathing became shallow as she pressed herself into the armrest of the couch, shrinking away from Ron, frightened, not of him, but of the feelings she held buried for him. He supported himself with an arm propped up against the back of the couch as he leaned over her. Hermione knew he was purposely trying to make her uncomfortable—and, damn him, he knew her well enough to know how to do it, too—yet she couldn't help her heart rate increasingly slightly at their close proximity. As she had lent backwards, taunting him, her legs had unfolded in order to make herself more comfortable—now, they were trapped beneath him. Their faces—their lips—were literally inches apart.

An infuriating smirk had fixed itself on his face.

However, despite her quickening heart rate, despite her feelings for him, and despite their incredibly close proximity, a small laugh escaped her as she noticed a detail that she had avoided her gaze until she had been able to get a closer look.

"Ron," she laughed. A confused expression adorned his face at her sudden change from anger and embarrassment to amusement.

"What?" he asked, clearly utterly confused.

"You have chocolate—literally—all over—the side of your mouth and chin," she got out in-between laughter, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Where?"

Swallowing her nerves, she reached up a hand to touch his face. _It's a purely platonic gesture_ , she reminded herself silently. "There," she answered, accentuating her words with a brush of her fingers over the places covered in chocolate, "there, there, and there."

Ron smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Care to get rid of it for me, then?" he teased.

Hermione grinned at him, and something in her expression made him suddenly wary. With the hand that she had reached up to his face with, she roughly scrubbed at the chocolate, being none-too-gentle with her actions. "Ow, 'Mione!" he complained.

"Something the matter, Ron?" she taunted, whilst trying to make the experience as painful for him as possible. "Gone," she finally declared, smiling at him with a taunting gleam in her eyes. However, though there was no longer any chocolate, Hermione let her fingers linger upon the curve of his jaw and chin for a moment, her fingertips wandering dangerously close to his lips. When she realised what she was doing, she snatched her hand away, face flaming—she couldn't meet his eyes, and dropped her gaze away, squirming, trying to push him away.

However, she was stopped—a gentle hand on her cheek turned her face back so that she was forced to look him in the eye. A long finger traced down her cheek, almost a caress. Hermione had to force herself not to shiver—Ron had _never_ touched her that way before. She searched his eyes, seeking answers. The hand that had caressed her face reached down to clasp her hand, his thumb gently running back and forth across her knuckles. Almost subconsciously, she interlaced her fingers with his.

"'Mione, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she pressed. She knew what he was apologizing for, but she wanted to hear him say it.

"The way I treated you, back when me and Lavender were together, and even after that. You mean a lot to me—our friendship means a lot to me—and I nearly ruined it."

Hermione tried not to wince when he changed _'You mean a lot to me'_ to _'Our friendship means a lot to me_ ', although the way he had said it had made it sound like a correction—like he hadn't meant to admit that she meant a lot to him.

"If you mean it," she said gently. "I forgive you."

He grinned, a real, genuine smile, one she hadn't seen on his face in a long time. Slowly, he leant closer to her. Her breath caught in her throat—was he really going to…?

A line from a random Muggle movie ran through her head: _The guy has to go 90%, but the girl has to give him that last 10%._

Her heart beating like crazy, Hermione raised her lips to his. The kiss was soft, unsure, but gentle, and she was sure his intentions were pure, that it was meant to be chaste—however, they were teenagers, teenagers who had been bottling up their feelings for each other for years, and it so that ideal did not last. He kissed her harder, more desperately, and she wound her arms about his neck, weaving her fingers in his hair. Lack of oxygen forced them apart.

A grin stretched across her face, one she was sure was mirrored on his. She laughed.

"What?" Ron asked, suddenly unsure of himself. What if he didn't compare up to Vicky, or—

Hermione's answer caught him off-guard. "You taste like chocolate."


End file.
